


The Start of Something Good

by mintboy (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: First Meetings, Humanstuck, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 07:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17157782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mintboy
Summary: Dave meets his cute neighbor while out on his apartment balcony being an idiot, and the rest is history.For my boyfriend.





	The Start of Something Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyMotor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/gifts).



“What the fuck are you doing?”

A voice calls from somewhere outside – and being on the fifth floor of the apartment building it’s a _little_ disorienting. I’m standing out on my balcony, the Texan sun beating down on my bare shoulders. I look to my right, where the voice seemed to come from, to see a man standing out on the balcony to the room beside mine, staring at me. His brow is knitted deeply, and he’s scowling at me – his face painted in a mixture of irritation and confusion.

Despite him being my neighbor, I don’t see him much. He seems to lead a life much busier than mine, and often isn’t at the apartment – and when he is, I don’t see him for more than the moment he quickly unlocks his door and slips into his room. I assume many of his friends must live somewhere else in the city.

Getting a good look at him, he’s actually quite attractive. His hair is messy and frames his handsome face. He has deep, rich eyes that have an intensity I can imagine turns to warmth around the people he actually enjoys seeing. His lip piercings – snakebites – move with his lips as they twitch in annoyance. He’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts and holding a watering can. Upon closer inspection, there are actually quite a few plants gathered on his balcony.

“Hey,” I say, standing up and raising a dye-stained hand to wave hello. I push my shades up with a finger that isn’t dripping, making a face at the smell.

“How the hell does that answer my question,” the man says flatly.

I shrug.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh,” I rub my face, which is starting to burn – I always forget sunscreen – and feel the dye on my fingers wet the skin around my nose, “I’m tye-dyeing shirts, duh.”

“Of course,” the man deadpans, “how could I not realize that the grown man next door to me is clearly on his fucking balcony frying himself to a crisp just to tye-dye a couple shirts.”

“Hey, tye-dye is a staple of American culture! Besides, have you ever seen anyone _not_ smiling who’s wearing a tye-dye shirt? I think – wait, am I really that burned?” I glance at my arms, which, though slightly obstructed by my shades, do look very discolored by the sun. My freckles stand out oddly against the odd pink color. Probably should have worn more than a tank-top.

The man rolls his eyes at me.

“Whatever,” he replies, before turning to water his plants again.

I move back down onto my knees, continuing to decorate the little bundles of white clothes with the dye. After a few moments of thought, I bite my lip and decide to stand back up. This might be my only chance to really talk to this guy, and … well, he’s really hot, and has an air about him that makes him feel like a rich warmth that I will only get to experience if I leap in _this moment_ – someone I should speak to before they slide out of my life forever.

“Hey, do you wanna come over for dinner?” I call over the drop that divides our two balconies.

The man jumps, nearly dropping his watering can.

“What? Why?” he asks. His brow furrows, this time more in hesitant confusion than any kind of anger.

“Do you want the friendly answer or for me to tell you you’re hot,” I ask, giving him a half-smile and raising my eyebrows.

He bristles, a little, his face visibly reddening. Then, he continues:

“When?”

“I dunno. Six?” I offer.

“What are we having?”

“Uhm.”

“You asked me before making actual dinner plans, didn’t you? God, I don’t even know you and I can tell you’re insufferable,” he puts down the watering can, crossing his arms over his chest.

I can feel a grin creeping its way onto my face.

“Maybe I did. I couldn’t really help it, you’re so –”

“Fucking stop,” the man runs his hands over his face, a sort of bashful expression visible in his eyes, “we’re talking about food. What do you have in your pantry?”

“Apple juice and fruit snacks.”

“Go on.”

“No, that’s it.”

The man blinks at me, and though there can be many emotions behind a blink, this one in particular revealed a sort of blend between horror, disgust, and disbelief.

“How are you _alive_ ,” he grumbles.

I just shrug.

“I’ll bring pasta,” the man decides definitively, raising his pointer finger in the air. God, he’s really cute.

“Cool.”

“So, six?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m Dave, by the way,” I introduce myself with a somewhat sheepish smile, realizing I hadn’t done it earlier.

“Karkat,” he replies, “I’m Karkat.”

Once he heads back inside, I hang all of my tye-dyed clothes, wandering back in to wash my hands. It only takes a glance around the apartment for me to realize it’s an absolute wreck. My eyes find the clock on the wall. I have two hours.

I clean up the apartment the best I can, while also washing and drying my tye-dyed clothes. Though there’s still quite a bit of clutter – stupid stuff, like magazines and CDs stacked in piles – all of the dirty clothes are put away and the bed is made. I wipe a hand over my forehead, moving to turn on the fan.

I only have ten minutes left, and I use it to get dressed. I comb my painfully straight hair to the side, wiping the sweat off of my burned face and trading out my boxers and tank-top for my tye-dye clothes – ah, the sweet irony. The top and bottom are both different “patterns” and colors, having originally been a t-shirt and shorts. It’s incredibly stupid, but it’s exactly what I’m going for.

At precisely six o’ clock there’s a knock at my door.

I pull it open, grinning. Karkat is standing in my doorway with a container of pasta in his arms.

“Oh my god,” he says, looking me up and down, “that’s the _worst_ thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Nice to see you too,” I step out of the way, letting him walk inside. He sets down the pasta on my table, turning to me.

“That’s what you were dyeing?” he says, exasperated, “it’s atrocious!”

“I’m glad you like it, because –”

“I hate it, you self-absorbed cretin.”

“I made you one too,” I finish, wiggling my eyebrows.

“You did _what_?” his question is barely audible, as I’m walking away towards the bedroom. I grab the shirt I dyed for him, making my way back into the main room and handing it to him. It’s still warm from being dried.

He examines it for a second, his face moving through a series of expressions I can’t really comprehend.

“Do you like it?” I ask, my voice probably a little too hopeful for an ‘ironic’ surprise.

He opens his mouth to respond but pauses when he looks up at me.

“… Yeah, I do.”

I grin.

“Awesome. We can wear matching shirts when we go out.”

“ _When_ we go out?”

“Well, I’d like to go out. Wouldn’t you, Kitkat?”

He examines me for a moment, and I let my smile grow, shoving my hands into the pockets of my shorts, which are still stiff with dye.

“I think I would,” he replies, a small smile appearing on his face. It’s more a smirk than anything, but incredibly charming nonetheless, “but, let’s have some pasta first, alright?”

“Yeah,” I respond, feeling a little fluttering in my chest, “yeah, that sounds good. Pasta first.”

I step towards the table, and Karkat puts his hand on my arm. I turn to look at him, and he gives a gentler smile. I see the warmth in his eyes, the sweeter kind of intensity I was looking for when I saw him out on the balcony.

“I can’t believe you made me a tye-dye shirt and _already_ asked me on a second date. You’re cute,” he mutters, “even if you’re a prick.”

I grin at him, feeling my face heat up a little – though I’m sure it hides behind my sunburn.

He pulls the top off of the container, and the smell of garlic fills the room. As I turn to go find some plates and utensils, I feel a warmth bloom in my stomach, moving up through my chest and into my head.

“What the fuck are you doing in there, asswipe?” Karkat calls.

“Coming,” I reply, taking a deep breath.

Yeah, this is the start of something good.


End file.
